


Goblin Hood (Human/Robin Hood AU)

by PuzzlePie



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Historically Inaccurate, Human AU, Medieval AU, Non-Graphic Violence, Robin Hood AU, but who cares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuzzlePie/pseuds/PuzzlePie
Summary: After spending the winter at the King's Court in London, Maid Marianne and her sister return home a few weeks ahead of their father to prepare for Marianne's wedding to the handsome and heroic Lord Roland, Sheriff of Fairwood. That is, until an unexpected encounter makes it clear that the road to happily-ever-after isn't going to be as smooth as she thought it would be...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic, so comments are appreciated! I'm gonna play fast and loose with history here - no period accurate speech, and a few facts of medieval life will be adjusted for plot purposes, but it won't get too crazy. More 'A Knight's Tale', less 'Robin Hood: Men in Tights'. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :3

 

It took three days for the carriage to appear. Three days of waiting in the sparse woods of the southern shire, far from the protective ancient growth of the dark forest. Three days of cold smoked meat and raw vegetables and stale bread. Anyone could have accidentally stumbled on the group of forty men (and a couple women) and they would have lost their chance. Fortune favored them, however, and when the liveried carriage came into view with its dozen guards and attendants, Bog allowed himself a crooked smile for the first time in ages. The plan was going to work.

 

  
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"Oh Marianne! This is SO exciting! Aren't you excited?"

"Of course I am, how could I not be?" Marianne Fairwood looked away from the wicker-screened window of their carriage to give her sister Dawn a happy smile. It was pretty clear though that the two young women had different definitions of 'excited'. Dawn could hardly hold still in her seat, bouncing as gleefully as a little girl with a sweet. Marianne was attempting to be more subdued, as befitted an older, almost-married Lady, but her facade kept cracking with happy smiles and wistful sighs. She peeked out the window again. It already felt like they had been riding for hours and hours, even though the sun's position indicated that it wasn't even noon yet. When, oh when would they be there?

The world outside the carriage sped by in an emerald blur and Marianne’s thoughts traveled even faster, all the way to Primrose Castle. After six months in London it was hard to say which she was more eager to see - her ancestral home where she had spent so many happy years, or the fiance who awaited her there. Just thinking of him filled her stomach with butterflies. The poems, the flowers, the songs... She could still see him at the Harvest Feast, down on one knee and proclaiming his devotion while her father looked on proudly. Lord Roland, Sheriff of Fairwood. _Her_ Roland, in just one week. She pictured his handsome face smiling down at her in front of the altar, holding her hands, sliding the ring over her finger… It took a real effort to drag her attention back to her sister in the present.

"You're getting married!" The younger girl redundantly squealed for probably the fifth time. "And there's going to be such a feast! I can't decide if I want to wear the periwinkle or the lavender dress. Oh I love the periwinkle one so much but the hem is so low, I can hardly dance! Maybe if I pin it up a couple inches Father won't notice… but I’ve only gotten to wear the lavender twice and I’m sure I’ve worn the periwinkle seven..."

“Eight, if you count that one dinner…” Marianne murmured under her breath.

“Eight, if you count that one dinner, but of course I wouldn’t, I didn’t get to stand up once the whole evening so no one really saw it…” Dawn continued, oblivious to the mimicry and to Marianne’s following eye roll.

Although their features were very similar, it was hard to imagine any two sisters more different. Dawn was as radiant as her name implied, a vision in a cornflower-blue silk gown trimmed in pale yellow that matched her blue eyes and wild curls of golden hair. Marianne had dark brown hair and light brown eyes and preferred clothes that were simple and utilitarian. Her travel attire was a burgundy cote over a cream chemise - cut from fine cloth, of course, but hardly on the same level as Dawn’s clothing, which could have been worn at the Royal Court. Of the eight trunks of clothing haphazardly tied on top of the carriage, Marianne could only claim two.

And yet, as Dawn made a wide gesture to punctuate some point and nearly tumbled off her seat with the momentum of it, Marianne couldn’t help but think that she had been incredibly lucky. Dawn was silly and naive and so obsessed with festivals and boys that it was enough to drive a sensible person mad at times, but Marianne couldn’t have asked for a better sister or friend.

“... and if Sir Nathan won’t dance with me, I’ll just die, I know I will. Oh, but you’ll be dancing, won’t you Marianne? Promise me you’ll dance, even just once, I know you don’t like to but pleeeeeease…” Dawn shifted to Marianne’s side of the coach and clasped her sister’s hand in entreaty, linking their fingers and giving her a look that was all big eyes and trembly hope, as though her heart would shatter if she said no. Marianne was about to swear to several dances for the sake of peace alone when she saw her sister’s expression change to suspicion. Too late, Marianne tried to snatch her hand away, but Dawn held on like a limpet.

“Mariaaaaaaanne…” Dawn grabbed her sister’s wrist to hold it still. Her delicate fingers traced the edges of new calluses on the palm, then turned her hand over to inspect a barely-healed blister just below her thumb. “You _promised_ Father you would stop!”

“Oh, um, did I?” Marianne had the grace to look guilty, but there was a mischievous edge to her voice.

“Marianne, I was _there_.”

“He said ‘promise me I’ll never see a sword in your hand again’. Well... he hasn’t! I never said I’d give it up entirely. I just.. practice when he isn’t around.”

“You could get hurt!”

“With blunted swords?” She rolled her eyes. “Bruised maybe, but it won’t kill me.”

“But what would Lord Roland think if he found out?”

What would he think indeed? Marianne looked away uncomfortably. She doubted Roland would approve of her ‘unlady-like’ interests any more than her father did. She had always sensed that certain things made him uncomfortable. When she spoke or laughed too loudly, or offered up some information about the latest jousts that he hadn’t known himself, or that one embarrassing time she had actually asked to examine the design of his new sword, he would always look at her with something like disappointment or even worse, he would humor her like a child. She couldn’t blame him, of course. He was looking for a real lady to stand beside him, someone sweet and demure. Marianne was determined to become that someone when they married, to be everything he wanted her to be. But… they weren’t married yet. One last winter sneaking into the training yards hadn’t hurt anything.

“He never will find out,” Marianne said with more confidence than she felt, “Because you won’t tell him, and neither will I.”

Dawn opened her mouth to protest, but Marianne suddenly pressed a finger to her sister’s lips. Her face had gone serious and alert. “Shhhhhh. Listen! Something’s wrong!”

“What - eeek!” Both girls were pitched forward into a heap as their carriage came to a jarring halt. Outside the little coach people were shouting, panicking, screaming. Their driver gave a terrified yelp that was suddenly cut short…

  
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The guards had been relaxed, joking with each other and chatting. This was known to be a safe road and with the end of their journey in sight, their vigilance had suffered.

It was like the forest itself rose up to devour them. Masked figures draped in vines surged in from both sides of the road, beating the men with staves and overwhelming them with sheer numbers before many could even draw their blades. Others surrounded the horses, boxing the beasts in before they could bolt down the road. The driver yelled and raised his crop to force them forward, but Bog stepped up and grabbed the poor man by the throat. “Silence!” he snarled, dragging the driver right off the box and sending him sprawling into the underbrush.

The ambush was over in less than a minute. Bog’s men quickly set to disarming the guards and tying them up, just as they had practiced, and he was proud to note that no one had been killed. Sure, some of them were going to wake up with a mighty headache, but there was no need to spill more blood than necessary. None of his own people seemed to be injured either, which was far more important. Of all the perilous tasks he had led them through, this ambush in broad daylight so far from their normal territory was the most dangerous. They risked everything to be here.

Bog stalked among their new captives. The men cowered under his long-limbed shadow, averting their eyes from the hideous mask that covered his face. Some prayed for protection from the saints, others quietly begged for mercy. They called him Demon. He was pleased to see his reputation preceding him.

“Well now!” Bog spread his arms dramatically in front of the carriage, his deep gravelly voice silencing friend and foe alike. “Victory is ours; shall we see what prize we’ve won?” A chorus of hoots and cheers met his declaration as he wrenched open the door…

… and was promptly punched in the mouth.

He staggered backwards as a small dark red blur threw itself at him out of the carriage, fists raised and a warrior’s howl on her lips. Brutus quickly intercepted with an arm around her middle, but even his prodigious strength needed help holding her down. “Get your hands off me!” Marianne kicked and struggled, but three of them pinned her arms and pushed her flat on the ground. One even sat on her. Panting and red in the face, she glared daggers up at them all.

They were a motley collection of different shapes and sizes, but beyond that she could see nothing to identify them. All wore wooden masks crudely carved to look like goblins or trolls and long burlap cloaks woven with camouflaging plants. The tallest of them wore only a half-mask, like a domino (and lucky for her, or she’d have probably broken her hand punching it) and his was styled more like some bizarre cross between an insect and a tree. The shadow of it left his eyes in total darkness, like staring into empty holes. It did nothing to hide the red mark on his sharp, stubbled jaw or the trickle of crimson at the edge of his lip though.

He ran his thumb over it, looking down at his own blood and then at the woman who had drawn it. He’d taken harder hits in the past, but not many.

Dark hair in long tousled braids, a dull red dress, and a hell of a right hook; he had to admire the handmaiden’s tenacity in spite of himself. She’d put up more of a fight than any of the rest, but she clearly wasn’t who he was here for… not when the actual target of this little plot was staring at him in stunned horror from the open door of the carriage.

“That one.” Bog pointed at the girl in opulent blue and gold. She gave a little cry and tried to retreat into the coach, but several of his men dragged her out by her sleeves and threw the sack over her. As small as she was, it seemed to swallow her whole. The woman on the ground screamed inarticulate curses and fought back with renewed vigor, nearly throwing off one of her handlers in her rage.

“Go!” Bog ordered, and they were quick to obey, carting their squirming bundle into the woods at a remarkable pace. A few remained to watch the captives and hold the other girl, whom Bog now towered over like a vengeful oak. He leaned low and grabbed her chin, rough fingers halting the stream of invectives and forcing her amber eyes up towards his shadowed gaze.

“If you hurt her, I will kill you myself. I swear it.” She spat through gritted teeth.

“Heh. Do ye know who we are, tough girl?” He asked with soft menace.

Her stubborn glare was an affirmative.

“Aye, ye do. Now ye’ll be delivering a little message from me to yer bloody sheriff. Tell him no harm will come to his blushing bride, so long as our demands are met. We’ll be in touch.”

Her face contorted with confusion. “Wait…. wait! She’s not…!”  Whoever was sitting on her back bounced off of it, interrupting her spluttered protests. By the time Marianne stopped coughing in the dust and climbed to her feet, the bandits had disappeared, melting away into the forest as quickly as they arrived. Aside from the groans of her bound escorts, all was still and silent.

Her clenched fists trembled with rage. With a frustrated scream, she punched straight through one of the carriage’s screened windows.

   
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Its real name was the Wylder Woods, but everyone who lived anywhere near it knew it as the Dark Forest. There were plenty of other copses of trees on the Fairwood lands and even a few good stretches of woodland, but the trees of those gentle hills were like innocent children compared to the untamed wood of the Forest. It was an old and hallowed place, the home of evil spirits and dark fae, if the stories were to be believed. Mothers had frightened their children with tales of it for generations. Eat your porridge, or the goblins will come and steal it in the night! Behave yourself, or the goblins might take you for one of their own, and they’ll never give you back! It was said that the plants in that forest moved of their own accord, that they would catch you if they could, and the roots of the forest floor were tangled with bones. Wolves lived there, and trolls and witches too probably. Some even said the devil himself ruled in that forbidden wood. All the tales agreed on one thing at least: anyone who stepped under that dark canopy would never be seen again.

In ages past, the forest had seemed content to prey only upon the lost and foolish, but in the last few years there had been a change. All across the Fairwood holdings people began to disappear one by one, spirited away in the night. Sometimes whole families seemed to vanish from the face of the earth. Goods also went missing, food and clothing and money and even weapons apparently stolen by the Dark Folk. Soon another rumor began to circulate though - that the thieves weren’t sprites or goblins after all, but wild men whom the forest had corrupted, all following their own heathen king. Nothing but common bandits, the Baron had declared, and while no one dared to contradict him, no one dared to enter the forest to find out either.

Sheriff Roland had stated his intention to lead all the finest knights of the land into the Dark Forest himself and burn the evil place to the ground if need be. Such statements were usually made during dinner and after a few goblets of wine, and frequently accompanied by fanciful accounts of what exactly he would do to the so-called ‘King of the Dark Forest’ when they met on the field of battle. Of course, such an important military action needed perfect timing to pull off properly. When the time was right, Roland assured them all, he would strike a righteous blow against the festering evil at their border. Eventually.

  
  
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Just after noon a single horse thundered up the road towards Primrose Castle and under the stone flower-shaped crest of its open gate. Marianne had made much better time sans carriage, luggage, and retinue. She brought her panting mount to a halt and slid off its bare back to the ground, stumbling a little as her legs felt like jelly after the ride.

“Walk it!” she tossed the reins to one of the several gawking servants who had come to see the new arrival. She had run the horse as fast as she dared and didn’t think she had overworked it, but the poor thing was used to sedately pulling coaches, not tearing across the countryside. The man obeyed her with an apprehensive look - heaven only knew what she looked like right now, with wind-whipped hair and dust all over the front of her dress. It certainly wasn’t the way she had planned to present herself to her fiance after their months apart, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Where is Lord Roland?” She demanded.

“In his quarters, Maid Marianne, but…”

“No time!”

She pulled up her skirts and ran. The worn, uneven steps of the castle barely slowed her stride; where a guest might have to walk with caution, Marianne could almost fly. This was her home and she knew every stone, every hidden mason’s mark and wobbly stair, as well as she knew herself. How many times had she and Dawn run down these halls together, the walls under their hands worn smooth by the many generations of their family that had done the same? The thought that Dawn might never walk through the castle again struck her like a blade in the chest, but she didn’t have the time or breath to cry about it. She had to get to Roland. He was the sheriff and the greatest knight in the land. He would know what to do.

Lord Roland’s quarters were on the opposite side of the keep from the suite of rooms she shared with Dawn. Although he had his own ancestral manor and estate, the handsome sheriff was so frequently at Primrose that he had been given semi-permanent quarters for himself and his attendants years ago. Marianne knew precisely where those rooms were, but she hadn’t entered them since Roland had taken up residence. It was not the sort of thing proper young ladies did. Now, however, was not the time for propriety.

“Lord Roland!” She burst through the door without knocking and came to a skidding halt. The room was most definitely Roland’s. She could count at least three tall polished silver mirrors at a glance. Luscious green tapestries bearing his family crest decorated the walls and matched the fabric that hung over a large, comfortable-looking bed near the fireplace. Under the fine sheets and blankets something moved, and Marianne felt a tinge of confusion. She’d expected to find him at his desk or sitting area, not still sleeping well past noon! In fact, it was rather odd that he was in his quarters at all, now that she stopped to think about it. Surely he had daily duties to attend to…

But the head that rose from the blankets to look at her in wide-eyed surprise was not blonde, or male. Why was Tess the kitchen maid lying in Roland’s bed? Their gazes locked and became mirrors of surprise and then dawning horror. For Marianne, time seemed to stop between her heartbeats, and in that space of silence everything she thought she knew about herself and her love and her future became irreconcilable to reality. In less than a second a world of communication passed between the two women - anger and apology, pain and regret, fear and forgiveness.

Roland’s head suddenly popped up beside Tess’s. “Ah, M-Marianne! Darling! This is, uh, this isn’t - !” He leaped out of the bed with a sheet over his front, unceremoniously dumping his lover off the side of the bed with a squeak. With complete detachment, Marianne registered the undeniable beauty of his muscled chest and shoulders still glistening with sweat. The gorgeous smile and twinkling green eyes that would have made her melt to the floor only a few minutes prior now seemed as false as any bandit’s mask. His voice was fluid, charming, honey-sweet and placating. “Buttercuuuup! You’re home early!”

Whatever else he might have said was interrupted as, for the second time that day, Marianne punched a man in the mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had about half of this done when I posted the first chapter, so there will probably be a slightly longer break between this one and the next one. Thank you to all the comments and kudos so far! :D

Once away from the road, the Dark Forest Outlaws split into smaller groups as planned. Their little fighting force would make far too large a trail traveling together, so Bog had instructed everyone to return to their camp in the Dark Forest in twos and threes. His own party was the largest, consisting of himself leading the way, Brutus carrying the captive, and Steph and Thad covering their tracks. Aside from the odd sniffle, the sack over Brutus’s giant shoulder made no noise. Bog was relieved that the girl wasn’t throwing a fit, as he didn’t relish the thought of having to gag and tie her. He could only imagine how terrified she must be at that moment and felt twin stabs of guilt and sympathy, but he shoved the soft feelings aside. As he had no intention of hurting her, _she_ at least would inevitably come out of the situation alright. There were many others more deserving of his concern than the sheriff’s rich and beautiful bride.

Soon the bright green leaves around them took on darker, richer tones. The trees were larger, older, towering like dozing giants above them. While the dusk-wreathed hollows and glens were starkly forbidding to strangers, they felt like home to the small band of ruffians. Down secret trails they wandered, to the deepest heart of the forest where the sunlight never touched the ground.

Finally the loamy scent of the woodland gave way to more human odors; campfire smoke and yesterday’s stew, leather and sweat. As Bog and his companions strode into camp, the bustle of life around them came to a gradual halt. Someone started to cheer and then others joined in, climbing down from their treetop lookouts and huts, dropping tools and weapons to raise their fists in the air. Brutus, Steph, and Thad grinned proudly under the praise and even Bog’s characteristic scowl wavered slightly. They had needed this win more badly than he could admit. Winter in the forest had been cruel, and as their numbers had swelled their supplies had dwindled. Next year there would be even less to steal.

The largest clearing was oblong and ringed with logs to sit on, though plenty of people were standing on them instead to get a better view. At one end sat a huge gnarled tree stump, larger around than two men could reach. Gray-green moss clung to the tall cracked remains where the black char-marks of an ancient lightning strike could still be seen. Some rough carving had been done to the shorter side to create a seat, and it was on this twisted throne that the King of the Dark Forest held court. Now he stood before it, arms spread wide. Other members of the raiding band had already shed their masks, but Bog kept his on. The misfits of the Forest quieted as his darkened gaze swept over them, and the pounding of his staff against the loamy ground silenced the last of the whispers.

“MY MERRY MEN!” He shouted triumphantly, his facetious description earning a chorus of hoots and laughter. Beside him, Steph coughed. “...AND WOMEN!” Bog amended without losing his stride. The second cheer was smaller and higher pitched, but no less enthusiastic. Bog waited for the excitement to subside before continuing.

“In yer struggle, yeh 'ave all lost much!” Murmurs of assent, nods, grumbles.

“The Baron and his Sheriff have taken yer lands, yer food, yer meager earnings, and left yeh to scrape by like animals!” Angry shouts, stomping feet, staves and fists waving.

“But today… today we have taken something of _theirs._ Today, _we_ will name the price, and they will pay it! Today, I give ye….” He gestured grandly to the sack that had been set before him and Brutus obligingly pulled its knotted top free, letting the burlap fall away from its contents. “... the Maiden Marianne, the Baron's eldest daughter and the Sheriff’s precious bride!”

The girl sat there blinking in the sudden light. Her cross-country ride on Brutus’s back had left her golden curls wildly disheveled and her fine blue dress was crushed and wrinkled beyond repair. Somehow it only enhanced her disarming beauty, as her sweet child-like face stood out all the more brightly against her tarnished finery. Even the most jaded and grizzled of the forest folk gasped at her fairness and held their breath to hear her speak. Her wide, innocent blue eyes took in the assembled people of the Forest with more confusion than fear before they fell on the King himself. Bog realized suddenly that she looked a lot younger than he thought she would be. He hadn’t exactly gotten a good look at her on the road, everything had happened so fast….

The girl cleared her throat and raised her hand.

“Um… I think there’s been a teeensy mistake? Because I’m not Marianne.”

In the heavy silence that followed, Thad’s high nasal voice carried surprisingly well.  “Ooooh right…Doesn’t the Baron’s oldest daughter have brown hair?”

  
  
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Supper that evening was more battle than meal.

(Upon learning of Lady Marianne’s current frame of mind, the castle steward surreptitiously instructed the servants to provide the evening meal with wooden trenchers and metal cups rather than the ceramic table settings usually provided to the nobility. As expected, both diners were too distracted to take offense, and the best of the crockery was thus saved a shattering fate.)

“I can’t believe you! How can you just be sitting there, stuffing your face, at a time like this?”

“Now darling, settle down…”

“Settle down!? *CRASH* “I’ll settle down when my sister is back!”

“Now don’t you worry your pretty little head, buttercup! I’ll rescue Lady Dawn in no time.”

“How? You haven’t sent any messengers to the other knights yet. You haven’t sent scouts to the forest or tried to raise a militia. You haven’t done anything!”

“These things take a little patience, sweetheart…”

“Patience!?” Marianne didn’t think of herself as the kind of woman who shrieked, but the pitch of her voice was coming dangerously close to it.  

Roland just nodded carelessly from his seat at the head of the table. He had been put in charge of Castle Primrose’s affairs while her father had taken them to London over the winter, and it seemed he had grown quite comfortable in the Baron’s chair in his absence. He was regarding her with a smug, knowing look, like she was a child throwing a tantrum. “I know it’s veeeery difficult for you to understand, but we’re going to need to build up a superior force first. An army! Maybe even get some trebuchets.”

“Trebuchets.” She stared at him. “You want rolling siege weapons… to attack a forest?”

“I’ve always wanted to use one. Might come in handy. You never know!”

“You’re crazy.”

“Only about you, buttercup!”

“....You’re drunk.”

“That… I might be.” Roland conceded the point with a forlorn glance at the wine pitcher that Marianne had thrown across the room and the dark burgundy stain it had left across the rushes. He clutched his half-full silver goblet protectively, lest she go after that next. It had taken some effort to get both of his cheeks as pink as the mark her punch had left behind, but he had persevered, and was rather pleased with the evened-out color when he examined himself in the reflective surface of his glass.

Marianne snorted in disgust, drawing Roland’s gaze away from the alluring qualities of his own reflection. “I can’t believe I was going to marry you.”

“Last I checked, you’re still going to.”

“I most certainly am not.”

Roland shrugged lazily. “S’not up to you, darling.”

It was a chilling thought, one that actually caused her to stop her restless pacing up and down the room. Sickeningly, he was right. Roland and her father had worked out all the details of the betrothal before he had ever asked for her hand, and everyone knew that the proposal had only been a formality. The Baron already thought of Roland as a son and had been grooming him to take over his lands for years. Marianne knew her father loved her, but she also knew that affairs of the sort she had walked in on that afternoon weren’t considered out of line enough to break such an agreement… for a man at least.

Maybe she had been naive to think Roland actually loved her, to think she might be one of the lucky few women to have a husband who wanted her for herself instead of her lands and titles. Heaven knew there were probably hundreds of girls who would trade her places in an instant, philandering fiance and all. Trying to put everything in perspective didn’t make it hurt any less though. It felt like there was a vise on her heart squeezing every beat, and coupled with the pit of fear in her stomach and the buzzing in her ears whenever she thought of Dawn alone in the woods with those beasts…

“We can talk about that later.” She forced through gritted teeth.

Roland just shrugged again. Marianne looked around for something to throw at him. Maybe he’d like to wear a soup basin as a hat. It was an attractive mental image, but not one that would help Dawn. After a small internal struggle, she managed to speak in a voice that was almost calm.

“So I’m to understand… that you don’t intend to do _anything_ about this tonight.”

“Oh no, I’ll be doing plenty! Thinking, planning, using the old noggin. Formutilatin… fortulatin… makin’ strateeegic military deeecisions.” He grinned. “Mos’ important part of any rescue. S’very important. Can’t be rushed.”

“Fine. You can do that alone. I’m going to bed.” Ignoring his slurred protests, Marianne turned on her heel and stomped out of the room.

By the time she reached her chambers, her anger had mostly faded against her fear. Still, she put on a brave face before she opened the door. The three young women inside stood up quickly, their eyes reddened with tears. Rosie, Daisy, and Lily were all around Dawn’s age, and so similar in appearance that most people incorrectly assumed the trio were sisters. Despite the gap in status between the Baron’s daughters and their handmaidens, the five of them had all become close friends. They had been expecting a happy reunion filled with gossip and tales of London after six months apart. Standing stiffly at attention, it was clear they were bearing the bad news as best they could.

“Miss - Miss Marianne! We weren’t expecting you to be back from dinner so soon…” Rosie said, swiping a hand across her face. She wasn’t the eldest, but for some reason Daisy and Lily usually followed her lead.

“I lost my appetite.” Marianne said truthfully, but seeing their bleak expressions, she forced a hopeful smile. “It’s.. it’s going to be okay though. We’ll have Dawn back soon, I promise.”

“Is Lord Roland sending out a search party?” Daisy piped up.

“Soon.” Marianne lied. “Probably first thing tomorrow.”

Breaking all semblance of propriety, the three of them all started speaking at once in a babble of anxious questions, crowding around her. Marianne raised her hands to try to calm them. “I don’t know, it’s… A lot of them, I hope… I’m sure she’s fine… girls, girls! Please!” With some difficulty, she managed to get their attentions. “I’m sorry but I’m just so... _distraught,_ you know? It’s been an awful day. I just want to get some rest.”

“Shall we help you get ready for bed….?” Lily was already moving towards the wardrobe where the nightgowns were kept.

“No! I mean, uh, no. No, that’s alright.” Marianne hurriedly waved her away. “I can take care of myself tonight. You can all have the night off.” The three maids exchanged confused, doubtful looks. “Really. I… I want to be alone.”

Reluctantly they took their leave. “You will ring for us if you need _anything_ , right?” Rosie asked at the door. Marianne nodded. “Of course I will. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Quietly, the heavy oaken door swung shut.

Barely a moment later, Marianne was pawing through layers of silk and lace. The carriage had eventually made it to the castle and both sisters' trunks had been brought up to their shared quarters. Dawn’s were stacked neatly on her side of the room, unopened. Marianne worked to quickly empty the larger of her two chests - the one she had insisted on packing herself.

Beneath the fine dresses, stiff girdles, surcoats and shifts lay a long package wrapped in linen. Digging it free, she unrolled the cloth with a quick flourish and spilled the contents onto her bed to take stock.

Dark leggings, maroon tunic, plain wide belt and tough leather boots with good, flexible soles. A dagger, honed to a fine edge in its folded leather sheath. And last of all…

Marianne picked it up gently, almost reverently. It was the silliest purchase she had ever made and had cost most of her spending allowance for the winter, all for something she never expected to even see again, let alone use. These little reminders of her secret life were concealed for a reason. As a wife, she would have no opportunity to indulge her ‘unusual pastimes’ (as her father put it), so she had wrapped them up and planned to hide them away for good. And yet…

With a whisper, Marianne drew the blade from its scabbard. Stronger and heavier than a rapier, but not quite on the scale of a knight’s sword, the beautifully crafted weapon fit her small hand perfectly. She gave it an experimental swing, marveling at the blacksmith’s craftsmanship. The balance, the weight, the design, all were precisely forged to her specifications. Unlike the heavy swords she had trained with, this one felt like a natural part of her body, like she had been missing part of her arm her whole life and now it was whole.

She could have borne hiding it away in a dusty chest for the rest of her life, or at least she had convinced herself that she could. What she couldn’t bear was never owning her own blade at all. It had been worth every shilling.

If only she could be using it under better circumstances.

Sighing heavily, Marianne sheathed the sword and began to pull her traveling cote off over her head.

Within minutes she was dressed. It felt so damn good to be wearing breeches again, no extra cloth twisting up her legs. The linen was wrapped snuggly around her chest, both to hide her form and prevent a certain amount of uncomfortable bouncing, and over it the tunic felt loose and comfortable. Buckling the sword belt snugly around her waist, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror beside Dawn’s wardrobe. She could easily pass for one of the castle’s squires at a distance, if it weren’t for the long dark wave of hair that fell over her shoulders. It was a windswept mess, part of it still clinging to that morning’s braid while the rest went wild. When she had snuck out to practice in the past, she had always braided it into tight buns, but there was no time for that now and she could hardly call Daisy back in with the combs and pins.

Long hair was a serious liability in a fight - easy to grab, distracting, obscuring. Marianne didn’t need to think twice. With one hand she twisted her tangles around her fist and held them out to the side while her other hand drew her dagger. Fifteen years of memories pooled dark and soft at her feet with a few quick slashes. Freed of the extra weight, what hair remained sprung up in little tufts. Marianne ran her hand through it a couple times to make sure none would hang in her eyes. The Marianne who looked back at her from the mirror was disconcertingly familiar. Hollow-eyed, with her mouth set in a firm line and her hair at her ears, she could too clearly remember the last time she had seen that face - the last time she had lost someone she loved, the last person who had cut her hair.

This time would be different. This time, she was not a child. Dawn could be saved. Marianne would bring her back home, and heaven help anyone who got in her way.

With practiced ease she silently pushed aside the shutters of their room’s only window and threw a leg over the sill. The handholds were exactly where she remembered them.


	3. Chapter 3

Winter’s last breath rode the spring night wind, throwing goosebumps on Marianne’s arms as she made her way through the bailey toward the kennels. The sun had barely set and a pink bloom still stained the sky to the west, but it was plenty dark enough that she wasn’t worried about being recognized. Just another squire or servant going about his duties, nothing to see here. The sword might arouse suspicion though, so she held the scabbard close to her thigh and facing the inner wall.

Inside the kennel, the heavy smell of dog was strangely comforting. Sleepy wet noses pressed into her hands and heavy tails thumped against their neighbors with excitement at the unexpected visitor. Her father and Roland were both avid hunters and kept a healthy number of hounds for the pleasure, but Marianne only needed one.

“Lizzie? Lizzie, where are you girl?” she whispered.

A soft ‘Whuff’ pointed her in the direction of the big tan hound with a dark spot over her left eye, but it was a human voice that stopped her in her tracks. Marianne pressed against the wall, but there was nowhere to hide in the single-room structure.

“Wha- who’s there?” A short man rose awkwardly from the raised wooden dog beds, squinting in the faint light from the open entrance. He took a few uneasy steps forward… and got close enough that Marianne could grab the front of his shirt and yank him through the canine crowd. Holding him to the wall, she clamped a hand over his mouth before he could get out more than a “Meep!” The startled dogs milled around them in confusion, unsure of whether the humans needed help or not, but ready to offer it at a moment’s notice.

“Shhhhh! Sunny, it’s me.”

“Mwwywannne!?”

“Yes. If I move my hand, you’ll be quiet?”

“Mmf-hmm!”

Carefully, she let him go. Sunny was a year older than her and a whole head shorter, a fact that he had never quite come to accept. (“Late growth spurts can happen! You never know!”) He had a wiry build, brown straw-like hair that stuck straight up more often than not, and a tanned honest face that rarely lacked a grin. Growing up, he had been the only other person near her and Dawn’s age at the castle, and the three had bonded over new-born puppies and pranks back when he was only a squire in the kennels. Now Samuel Bright (Sunny, to his friends) was probably the youngest kennel master the castle had ever had, but his skill in raising and training hunting hounds was unmatched.

“I didn’t think you slept in here anymore.” Marianne whispered.

“I don’t, usually.” His voice was strangely hoarse, not his usual fine tenor, and when he sniffed and rubbed his face she realized that he sounded miserable. Marianne had never seen Sunny cry, not even when one of his favorite hounds passed. She pretended not to notice and instead focused on the task at hand.

“Sunny, I need Lizzie tonight.”

“Lizzie? Why?”

“I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“Mariaaaanne…”

_“Promise!”_

“Okay okay! Cross my heart and everything. What’s going on?”

“I’m going after Dawn.”

“ _YOU’RE WHAT!?_ ”

“SHHHH!” She clapped her hand over his mouth again. “Quiet!”

“Urr goin’ affer Dawmn urseff?” he spoke around her fingers, incredulous.

“Yes, and I need Lizzie. She’s the best scent hound we’ve got.”

He shook his head, escaping her hold. “What about the search party?”

“There is no search party.” Marianne said quietly, feeling the edge of that cold anger again at the back of her throat. “Roland is useless. By the time he organizes his men, it could be too late.” She let the implications of that sink in for a moment. "That’s why I need Lizzie, and I need you to help us get out of the castle unnoticed, and I need you not to tell _anyone_ where I’m going.”

Sunny was quiet for a beat, absorbing this strange turn of events, coming to his own conclusions. “No way, Marianne. I’m gonna tell everyone. In fact, I’m gonna start yelling right now! ...Unless you take me with you.”

“What? No! It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s more dangerous to go alone.” he insisted, his conviction growing with every word even though she could hear the tremble of fear behind it. Sunny had never claimed to be a brave man, he didn’t know how to fight, and Marianne had literally seen him jump and scream at his own shadow once. “No one can handle Lizzie like I can. I’m your best chance for finding Dawn. And maybe I can help some other way too! I swear I won’t get in the way. You won’t even notice I’m there. I can’t…” His voice broke. “I can’t just stay here and do nothing…”

Marianne knew only too well how he felt. And hadn’t her father once said that a willing volunteer was worth ten conscripted men? “You promise me you’ll run at the first sign of trouble? And do exactly what I say?” she asked, watching him intently for any hint of disagreement. By now both their eyes had adjusted well enough to see each other dimly. He nodded, looking terrified but resolute.

“Fine. Let’s get out of here.”  


*            *            *            *            *

 

Sunny turned out to be even more useful than Marianne had expected. He knew the guard rotations by heart (since most of them were friends of his) and with his help the three of them were able to slip out the sallyport unnoticed. Securing a horse from the stables just outside the wall was easier too. Marianne would have liked to take her own well-bred courser mare for the speed, but the finer horses were housed inside the bailey and there was no way even Sunny could get one through the gate unnoticed. One of the cart horses, however, might not be missed until daylight. While Sunny distracted the stablehands, Marianne quietly slipped away with a large bay and a bridle from the other end of the building. They met up again further down the road, Sunny standing on a fence post to scramble up behind Marianne while the gelding snorted in annoyance. He was a calm, solid beast and their weight didn’t bother him, but being ridden bareback at night by two people was a new experience. He didn’t seem to appreciate the novelty.

Lizzie was performing admirably though, moving so silently that Marianne frequently had to double check and make sure she was still there. Sunny kept her on track with light whistles and clicks of his tongue, though the hound needed little guidance as they set a brisk pace towards the site of the carriage attack.

Strangely, they saw very few other people on the road. Marianne had been a little too distracted earlier to take much notice, but even when they passed through the small village about a mile from the castle, nearly all the windows were dark and only a couple folks were still out and about. The whole place felt oddly deserted. The ones they did see never cast a second glance at the two young ‘men’ on the cart horse, their downward gazes and slumped shoulders indicating a clear preoccupation with their own problems. Perhaps there was some sickness about? Marianne frowned. She hadn't heard of anything like that, but it would be something to look into when she came back. 

If she came back.

The little party made good time, at least as far as to the ambush site. Lizzie took a quick sniff of one of Dawn’s handkerchiefs and then set off into the woods without hesitation. As a well-trained lymer she was used to quietly trailing her prey by scent, leading the huntsmen to the best game without alerting the animal to their presence, and with her nose to guide her she didn’t seem bothered by the dark at all. Not so for the horse, since even with the help of the shaded lantern they had brought, the poor beast seemed constantly bewildered and it took all of Marianne’s skill to keep them moving. Their pace fell to an agonizing crawl. Without a clear view of the sky there was no way to gauge how long they wandered through the dark glens, blind to all but the circle of light just ahead, while the horse’s clumsy trampling of the underbrush eclipsed all other noises no matter how they strained to hear them. They could be surrounded by outlaws or wolves at any moment and never even know it until it was too late. Most of the time Sunny kept his face pressed into Marianne’s back, his arms wrapped in a trembling death grip around her torso. She was nearly as scared as he was, but refused to show it, for if they both gave in to fear then they would definitely fail. Knowing she had to be brave for both of them somehow gave her more courage than she might have had alone and she sat up straighter, held the lantern higher, and followed the swish of Lizzie’s tail with all the faith she could muster.

Gradually Marianne noticed a difference in their surroundings. The stabbing thorns and nettles around them gave way to empty stretches of open ground between the trees where pale mist swirled ghost-like over roots thicker than her own torso. No longer could they see even the occasional star through the canopy, but now there were new sources of light. Here and there early fireflies flitted about like little winking sparks, while above them strange pale green mushrooms drew outlines of the branches with their dusky luminescence. Lizzie seemed more confident than ever now. She would bound ahead just out of the edge of their light, then stop and look impatiently over her shoulder for the humans to catch up.

Marianne was so intent on following her that it took an elbow in the ribs from Sunny for her to look up further ahead. In the distance where the ground rose in a natural bluff, they could see just the faintest golden glow - the unmistakable light of a campfire.

The horse was quite happy to rest with his reins looped over a branch, but Lizzie whined at being left behind. Sunny alternated between scolding her in hushed tones and reassuring her that they would be back soon, she’d done a great job, she was the best dog ever, now just stay girl, that’s a good girl. Her tail thumped nervously against the ground but she did as told. After extinguishing their lantern, Marianne and Sunny continued on foot. There was no doubt that these were the outlaws they sought. No one else would dare to make camp in the Dark Forest.

It turned out that the glow was farther away than they thought it had been, and the ground sloped more steeply upwards as they approached. Soon there was a second source of light, then a third, then two more…

By the time they were close enough to see the actual flames, Marianne’s hopes of success were crumbling.

There had been thirty, maybe forty people in the ambush (hard to tell, with them all being camouflaged and masked), and Marianne had assumed they would run into much the same number at their camp, hopefully with most of them asleep. In her mind the tables were turned on the ambushers and it was their turn to be surprised, overwhelmed, and confused. She had imagined distracting a few sentries, grabbing Dawn, maybe fighting off any followers while they made a run for it.

This, however, was no simple campsite.

It was practically a village.

Dozens and dozens of fire pits flickered on the plateau ahead of them, each surrounded, at a glance, with plenty of people either sleeping or sitting or standing nearby, chatting in low tones and cooking things on sticks. Of the group nearest to them, two were wearing their goblin masks pushed atop their heads like weird little hats with noses. Above them the trees were alive with more lights. Shaded lanterns bobbed across bridges between the wooden platforms wedged among the giant branches. There was a constant quiet hum of activity as folks moved about, snored and sniffled, rattled pots and poked the embers. There had to be three, maybe even four or five hundred people out here!

Lying with their stomachs on the cold moss, Marianne and Sunny exchanged equally bewildered looks. No one back at Primrose had any clue that the Dark Forest Outlaws had amassed such a force.

“What do we do now?” Sunny whispered.

“I don’t… wait, listen…” Marianne held a up a finger for silence. They both waited, breaths held, and then -

They heard it. Faint and far away, it was still a sound so sweet that Marianne almost cried. Somewhere out there in that strange stretch of plants and humanity, her little sister was singing.

“She’s alive.” Sunny breathed, letting the air out of his chest like it had been held there all night.

“And she’s alright.” Marianne nodded. There was no trace of pain in her sister’s voice, just perhaps some sadness. Marianne thought she even recognized the tune. It was a lullaby their mother had sung for them, one of the few clear memories Dawn had of her. Did she sing it now to comfort herself?

“So what do we do now?” Sunny repeated. Marianne rubbed her eyes quickly and refocused on the problem. Dawn was alive and unhurt, good. Still the captive of a gang of ruthless outlaws. Less good. How were they ever going to get her out?

“Sunny..." she said slowly, as a plan started to form itself in her mind, "you promised you’d do whatever I told you, right?”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not gonna like this?” he muttered.

“I need you to find Dawn. Get her free, get back to Lizzie and ride home as fast as you can. Don’t stop for anything, don’t wait for me. Okay?”

“Wait, what are _you_ going to do?”

“I’m going to be your distraction.” she said grimly. He started to protest, but Marianne interrupted him. “Sunny, this could be the _only_ chance we’ve got!”

“I can’t tell Dawn we’re leaving you behind!”

“Then don’t tell her. Say I'm back at the castle, say you came alone, I don’t care! Just get her out of here.”

“Eeeeeehhhhhhh….”

_“Sunny.”_

Slowly, he turned in the direction she pointed and crawled to his feet, murmuring under his breath all the while. “Fine, fine, this is fine, don’t worry, everything will be alright…” In a few moments he had completely disappeared among the trees, just another shadow in the dark. He had always been good at blending in.

Marianne, not so much. Still on her belly, she shuffled nearer and nearer to the edge of the firelight. She would need to get the whole camp’s eyes on her somehow. Maybe if she could make it to the center of the camp and cause a ruckus…

Something shifted under her hand and Marianne stopped still, worried that the noise would alert the outlaws. No one seemed to notice, so she carefully picked the object up, exploring it with her hands, figuring out what it was. Wooden, with sanded holes and rough twine on either side of it, shaped like a cheekily grinning rat-creature. One of the bandits must have dropped his mask.

Marianne smiled almost as widely as the impish face. Fortune, it seemed, was smiling back.

 

*            *            *            *            *

 

Bog had never had an easy time with sleep, a fact evidenced by the near-permanent dark circles under his gray-blue eyes. Add to that an uneven schedule of night-time raids and the stress of his current responsibilities, and most nights found him sitting on his stump-throne with his head in his hands rather than on his pillow, trying to sort out the mess of his life one poor decision at a time. For other people it might be difficult to pinpoint exactly when everything started to go down hill, but Bog had solved that particular mystery many sleepless nights ago. He knew the exact moment when his life had gone to hell, he could even remember the very day and hour. The first time he saw _her_. The first time he fell in love.  

It was all the decisions after that which still gnawed at him, up to and including the current scheme that was not going according to plan at all.

So they had grabbed the wrong girl. That wasn’t that big of a deal really, one nobleman’s daughter was as good as the next, right? It certainly would have been better to get the girl that the Sheriff was apparently ‘madly in love with’ (ick), but her sister was close enough.

No, the problem was that the dates had been moved, or maybe they hadn’t had good information from the start. The wedding was supposed to be a week away, with the Baron already on his way home, and no time to return to London or summon reinforcements before half of England’s aristocracy showed up on his doorstep expecting a big celebration. He would have been forced to negotiate or face a fiasco.

Instead, as Bog’s way-too-chipper-captive had been happy to inform him, the wedding was actually three weeks off. Plenty of time for Sheriff Roland to get word to her father while he was still at the king’s court and bring the whole royal army down on their heads.

Bog leaned against his staff and ran a hand over his eyes and down his long face. His fingers lingered a moment around his mouth, rubbing absently at the sore spot along the left side of his jaw. The sister. He could see the resemblance now, of course. They had the same shape to their faces, same build, same fine cheekbones. He might have figured out which one was the right one if he’d had time to think it through. He just hadn’t been expecting the Baron’s precious little lady of a daughter to be a wildcat with fire in her eyes and a fist like a rock. Who would?

Amber eyes, Bog remembered randomly. As big and expressive as her sister’s, but with much less softness and naivety. More feisty.

He realized he was smiling, just a little, and shook himself. They had kidnapped the right girl after all. The other one would have been nothing but trouble.

In front of him, someone cleared their throat. Bog looked up to see a young man standing in the clearing, not far from where Dawn had been so dramatically revealed earlier that day. The warm light of the cooking fires and swaying lamps threw molten highlights in his short dark hair, but his face was obscured by one of the goblin masks - an impish one with a wide, sharp-toothed grin that stretched literally from ear to ear. One of the night patrols come in to make a report, perhaps, except Bog didn’t recognize him....

Smoothly, the stranger drew his sword and leveled it at Bog. Even from several yards away it was clear that the blade was a work of art, masterfully crafted even if it was a bit small, and far beyond the means of any person under Bog’s command.

“I have come to challenge you,” the stranger said in a voice slightly muffled by the mask but still loud enough for half the camp to hear, “..for the Throne of the Dark Forest!”


End file.
